


The Downward Spiral

by Mihkail



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Revenge, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mihkail/pseuds/Mihkail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. This is the beginning of Madara's fall from grace...and Mito and Hashirama get front row seats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hashirama's Punishment

The night was warm, even for summer. A breeze would have been a welcomed reprieve. To open the windows and let it roll through and permeate. Dispel the sullied, stale air that was choking her, condensing into a fog of filth and infecting her with its poison.

No, it wasn't condensing into anything tangible. That was an exaggeration. This night was different from no other night, from a bystander's point of view.

For her, it was a night like no other. She would suffer in the humidity, and the wicked scent it strengthened. The aroma that drifted from her skin like cruel incense, and made her sick to her stomach. The sweat had dried long ago, she'd been sitting there so long, but it felt like minutes. A couple slow blinks and a few breaths...but the fire of the setting sun had been snuffed into dense night in between them. Where had the time gone?

"Mito-sama?" A young voice questioned her from the other side of the door. Louder this time, with a hint of urgency, and a soft tapping on the wood.

She started, fingers curling into a loose fist and back straightening as if she meant to move, but she only turned her head. A swath of loose crimson tickled her shoulder. Pensive eyes considered the door in silence. It would not open without her permission, and so she would take her time collecting her thoughts, at the expense of her apprentice's rattled nerves. The girl could wait.

Inching down the door, she caught sight of the river of earthen green in the dim light. Snaking and twisting its way across the floor towards her, as if reaching. The long obi she liked to wear with her plain, creamy kimono.

" _Where is he?" His voice was deep and unsettling. The shift of fabric and metal was loud in the still room. The door did not need to be shut. He was too close._

Fingers searched for the fallen sleeve in the crook of her elbow. The soft cloth rose up her bare back, once more hiding the sharp lines of her shoulder blades, and the tender red welts between them. Her gaze focused and turned away from the obi. Ears honing in on the shrill chorus of crickets outside the closed window. If it would keep his voice out of her head, then...

The tapping came again, and Mito made a small noise that might have been a sigh. Something sad and tired. "Everything is fine." She called to the tensely huddled girl on the other side, whose ear was held close to the door in anticipation of any voice or ruffle of movement. It was soft and calm enough to loosen the girl's aching shoulders, and she pulled away from the door, relieved.

"I must retire for the night. We will resume tomorrow." Fingers wrapping around ribbons of red, a flutter of paper drifted to the floor next to her, decorated in sharp strokes of black ink. Slowly, her hair was wound up into the bun it unraveled from earlier, to match the other still intact. The thin pins were retrieved one by one from the entanglement of her kimono and the floor, and then the paper tag would be returned to dangle on its string from her bun.

_A flash of gold blazed across the mane of black as he passed the window. The setting sun highlighted the hardened expression on his face. A strong hand gripped her by the hair, pulling free a pin. The first time he ever touched her. A piece of armor bit into her thigh, a link joining the red plates he should no longer need to wear. She wished it would disappear, but when it did, she wished it would return. The armor had been cool. Now his leg was warm between hers. What was this feeling? Fear?_

"Mito-sama..." The young girl persisted tentatively. The voice of one who was ignorant of the events that had just transpired, but suspected something was wrong. "Can I bring you anything before I leave? Would you—"

"Everything is fine." She repeated herself, interrupting the girl with a tone that was a little coarser than it was meant to be. Uncharacteristic for the woman who had become known to the budding Fire Country for her steadfast strength, yet patient and gentle demeanor.

The muffled steps backed away from the door as her apprentice relented. "Goodnight, Mito-sama." It was hesitant, regretful, but she disappeared. Leaving her mentor alone in the dark, as she demanded. Blissfully ignorant she would remain. This burden did not need to touch her.

The green fabric adjusted around her neck and smoothed over her collar bone, concealing a bruise. She rose from the floor, leaving the obi in its place. There was no need to redress completely. Everything would be removed soon.

_She could smell him. The perfume of summer clinging to his clothes, traces of sweat behind his ears, down his neck. His hair was thick and long like hers, yet he never pulled it back. It was a wonder he didn't sweat more. A little smoke fading away, something spicy...barbequed meat for dinner, perhaps. Something human—masculine, specifically—in his hair, on his skin, through his clothing, reaching for her. Touching her hair, her skin, pressing her clothing. Layers of kimono that now felt like rice paper. There was too little between them._

_Her eyes betrayed nothing. The fear confined within a cage inside of her. She wouldn't let him see. The dark hazel met his without a challenge. Mindful of the grip in her hair, the hard edge of a table pressing into her lower back, her palms bracing its surface. The pulse pounding its quickened rhythm up the slope of her neck intractable. She chose to ignore it, but it was there, and he saw. Its flutter waxed and waned in time with her heartbeat in the harsh light casting angles through her room. Beams of fire through the dusky shadows._

_She felt the prickle of something wicked crawling under her skin, afflicted by his eyes, and following the path they took over her._

" _Are you afraid of me?" He asked quietly. Voice absent of the passion she knew was brimming under his reserved, tempered surface. There was proof enough in his hands, in his intimate proximity. But this passion was not meant for her. She was simply in the way. A victim of circumstance, in the wrong place at the wrong time, though this was still his choice._

_He could have left, once he realized he would not find what he searched for, but he didn't. He cornered her instead._

The tepid water filled the air with the scented oils she added. Full and serene before her, inviting her into its liquid cocoon. The spoiled kimono shed in a pile at her heels. One by one, she removed each pin that was methodically placed within her hair, until the buns unfurled into a wave down her naked back. Hands dropped to her sides, pins held loosely in one, paper tags in the other. She stared at the bath without seeing it.

" _I am afraid for you, Madara-sama."_

_The prickle under her skin faded. His eyes met hers, curious._

" _How far you have fallen. How far you may fall still..."_

_He searched her, curiosity peeking briefly, then falling to indifference. She half-expected anger, resentment, scorn, anything... He did not care._

_The mild sting in her scalp ebbed away. His fingers released her, another pin falling loose. A distant click as it hit the floor. She never knew how large his hands were until he touched her face. A palm cupping her cheek tenderly, his finger grazing her ear. A touch only her husband was meant to give._

" _Don't fear for me, Mito-san." He drew closer. She stiffened. Her fingertips flexed into the table behind her._

" _I will not be the one to fall." His breath tickled her cheek, his lips grazing her. She opened her eyes and met one of his. Purposeful, calculating, earnest. This was a conscious decision. He was here for a reason, but she was not his target. She was a part of another's punishment now. Ensnared into a web that was never meant for her, but accepting of her all the same. She could see it buried within him, within the way he watched her without seeing her. The way his desire only trickled through his restraint, when it was capable of something much more vehement._

_He was holding himself back. Sparing her the heart of his retribution. His true intent was not to hurt her...but he would, inevitably. She could see that, as well. Her only crime was her union with Hashirama, but it was enough._

Washing her hair had not been part of the plan. Troublesome to dry, with how long it was. But she changed her mind. It's scent was no longer hers, and that was unforgivable. Any evidence of his offense would be destroyed.

The oils cleansed her skin. Purifying her, or so she wanted to believe. The red locks fanned in the water, stretching into a massive halo that tricked the eye into witnessing a pool of blood diffuse around her. A tragedy that her memories could not diffuse with it.

Her fingers raked over her body. Scrubbing, picking, rubbing. Nothing was clean. His breath still teased her skin. Saliva left its traces in places he was never meant to see. The intimate contours of his bare chest burned into her, and his hips flush with her own. Eyes roamed every inch of flesh she sought to keep from him, their effect still prickling her skin. Nothing was left unmolested. He had taken everything from her, and with great care. Treating her like he would a battlefield, meant only to be conquered and abandoned.

To think, she had once respected him.

_A quick fight. The table shifting with a short hum. An unfinished scroll thumping to the floor. A fraction of a second too late, she almost struck him. He was faster, but she knew that... As it stood now, her husband was the only shinobi in the village that could match him. Perhaps the only shinobi in the world._

_Short breaths beat into air, her cheek pressed into the surface of the table. Hands trapped in his, tight and twisted and painful into her lower back._

" _What will you do, Mito-san?" A whisper filtered through her hair, loose and unwinding from its position. Sinking slowly over her face to mask her. "Will you let your home be destroyed in your effort to stop me? Will you rouse the village to fight me? Put their safety in jeopardy, for your own sake?"_

_She could move. She wasn't helpless. But she waited. Listened. Ignoring the pain in her wrists, compliant as she felt him move behind her. His thighs pressing to hers while he leaned over her._

" _How much noise will you make before your apprentice comes for you?"_

" _You would become an enemy of the very village you helped to build, betray your promise of peace, for me..." Lamenting softly, a calm, resigning gaze peered through the red veil in front of her. His tongue was clever, threatening the people she swore to protect. He could be lying, but her intuition implored her not to test him. He was different now._

_If this was his ambition, she could not stop him. A battle between them could last beyond her wildest dreams, or perhaps much shorter...but it would be fruitless She would be a fool to draw attention. She would suffer his wrath alone, if it meant sparing the innocent._

" _Konoha has already decided my fate for me, as well as its own. My own clan has turned against me. Hashirama saw to that. Our alliance was my greatest mistake." The ice in his voice chilled her, but still she did not move._

_Arguing was as fruitless as fighting. He was wrong, but he would not listen to her. His ego deafened him to reason, and blinded him from truth. His greatness sabotaged by untamed self-righteousness. Pity was all she had left for him...and pity for her husband, who held him in such high regard, and perhaps even loved him._

_The pressure in her belly was brief, and then the obi was sliding from her. Slipping and tumbling like her hair. He whisked it into the room, where it danced in the air and fluttered down to the floor. The green and white collar parted at his guidance. It gaped loosely, freeing the back of her neck. Then melting over her shoulders, exposing her back. The shorter layers of his hair touched her there, making her shiver._

_Her wrists fell, freed from him in confidence. She would not resist. The prickling of her spine let her feel every movement of his complacent eyes as he searched the exposed flesh below him._

_A clink of metal and quick rustle of fabric startled her. The pale shoulders tensed under him. He paused. A palm pressed her, smoothing between her bare shoulder blades and finding its grip up her neck, into her hair. A touch meant to console. His lips moved to her ear, breath hot and full of spice. "I won't hurt you."_

" _No, Madara-sama...you won't." Her whisper agreed, reaching him faintly. "You will only hurt yourself."_

_He considered her, thoughtful but stoic. A finger curled through her hair. Pulling the locks out of her eyes, and revealing for her the harsh red and orange glow igniting the room as the sun drifted lower. A kiss grazed her cheek, so gentle she was almost convinced he meant what he said, but it would not fool her._

_The layers of cloth bunched against his arm, rising and wandering behind her. Exposing her thighs as he traced them lazily. The body beneath him did not react. Not a twitch, nor a shift. It would have surprised him, but she was too still. Unnaturally rigid. A deceitful sturdiness hiding fragility._

_When he pressed into her again, her body was warmer than before. Her eyes were closed, a creamy complexion that was peaceful enough to pass for sleep, but he knew better. She could not hide forever._

" _Has he touched you yet?" The question assaulted her. A flicker of defensive hostility creasing her brow, and then it was gone. She didn't like that._

" _Tell me, or I will find out."_

_Silence answered him._

_He flipped her over easily, but gently. The defined lines of her collar bone peeking at him as the kimono parted open. A ribbon of hair fell across her lips. Her knees were bent back, forcing the lean calves and thighs from their modest confines, back flush against the table with his hips between her legs. He was still clothed, but she knew how quickly that could change._

_Deft fingers shocked her with their vulgar touch, pulling aside the delicate undergarment she wore and invading her in one rapid plunge. Her skin was like living silk, hot and soft in his hand. Two of them buried between her lips, the rest cupping her. Her eyes flew open, a sharp gasp ripped from her, stirring his loins as he looked down at her._

" _So he has...but not much." He concluded quietly, satisfied in what he felt within her. A tight grip enveloped his fingers. Her sensitive skin was yielding and pliable for him, but snug. The apathy he displayed suggested he would not have cared either way, that a different result would not have stopped him._

_His eyes passed down her chest. The rise and fall of her breasts came quicker, deeper. Still concealed by fabric, but generous in their shape. He could finish stripping her with the slightest effort, but he watched instead. Patient enough only to prolong her torment._

_This was a false victory, and he knew it. A temporary appeasement that would only leave him more frustrated once it was over, but he couldn't stop._

" _You keep the fear out of your voice." His murmur was deep. The wall of black above her lifted, over his head and down his arms. His shirt was dropped to the side, a bare chest that endured years of ruthless training left in its place._

" _You shield it from your eyes. But I see it..." He bent forward. A fist in her hair. A wet grip on her hip, nestled beneath her kimono. His lips found her throat._

" _I see it in your pulse. I smell it on your skin." He kissed her, licked her, nipped her with his teeth._

" _I hear it in your breath. Your fear..."_

" _Madara-s—" Back arching and muscles tight, she was clutching him tensely when his name burst from her. The wet hand left her hip and tugged the kimono away, revealing her breasts. They grazed his chest, small pink buds stiff though the air between them was stifling._

_He paused, but only briefly. A hand caught under her knee, forcing her wide open and sending her heart racing. Weight falling, smothering into her and caging her in his embrace. He listened to her panic. Shaky pants tickled his shoulder._

" _What is it you fear?" He asked in a hushed whisper, causing her to still and listen._

" _It's not pain." His tongue found her nipple as he moved lower. Traveling down her body to explore her thoroughly. A small noise enticed him, dying in her throat before it could mature into the passion he wanted to hear. She refused to give him the satisfaction._

" _Is it pleasure? You fear what I will do to you...don't you, Mito-san... The humiliation, when I take you, and you enjoy—"_

Her eyes closed. Anger flickered within her, but then she cast it away. The bath was dark as the night itself, but not dark enough. Not even with her eyes shut, but it was all she had. The voice was like a brand to her eardrums. She couldn't be rid of him. He was inside her. Between her legs, echoing in her ears, burned into her vision, searing her nose. She could not escape him even now, while she tried to cleanse herself of his filth.

The things he said disgusted her. Perversions she never imagined she would hear, not from him nor anyone. The web of sickening corruption his tongue weaved grew thicker and more vile the longer he spoke, and she would relive no more of it.

The physical positions he put her in... On the table, against the wall, down to the floor. On her back, her stomach, wrapped around him or bent over. He played with her, and indeed humiliated her, but nothing he did was worse than the lustful, vengeful poison he dripped into her ears.

She inhaled deeply, and slowly, she sank further into the scented water. Letting it fill her ears, cover her eyes, and lap over the top of her head. Drowning herself in an effort to drown him. At least, until she ran out of air. It was futile, but there was nothing left to do.

He was still too close...


	2. Hate To Love You, Love To Hate You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left out the Japanese honorifics in this chapter because I could not find anywhere in the anime (didn't check manga) where Madara and Hashirama used them with each other, so...I thought it would be weird to use them now. Just in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> This is also my first time writing yaoi, and it was...challenging, for more than one reason.

The sun had long set, yet it was like trying to breathe in a sauna. A dreadful evening to train, but he could not be choosy with such things. Unifying clans, supplying the infrastructure for a village, and now the tedious politics. Any free time was stolen time, and made him feel guilty.

 

“ _Go... It will make you happy. I have some work to do, anyway.”_ Those were the words his wife spoke, before gently shooing him out of his own home. She was too kind to him. If only he could convince her to let her hair down more often. It was too pretty to hide in buns every day.

 

“What does the God of Shinobi have to train at this hour?” A familiar voice spoke lowly.

 

Hashirama looked up. The figure was shrouded in black and red, some meters away. He might have passed right by him, standing in the shadow of that tree. Fatigue from a long day and the tough practice he just put himself through weighed him down.

 

“Ha... Madara.” He smiled. Clothing damp and sticking to him uncomfortably. A bead of sweat trickled down from his temple. “You know I don't like that title. There is always room for improvement. How else would we have come this far?”

 

Hashirama moved towards him leisurely. The hiss of grass silenced by the chorus of crickets around them. The leader of the Uchiha did not answer him. His face was turned upward, watching something high above.

 

The red armor became easier to see in the closing distance. The armor of their ancestors, when the world was ripe with their endless warring. Things had changed. _They_ had made things change, with so much work and sacrifice. Why did he wear this relic now? He regarded it curiously, a foreboding tug in his gut, and then tilted his chin to follow his gaze.

 

A full moon peeked through a hole in the canopy. The only source of light in their midnight forest, winking down at them in the shifting shadows.

 

“It looks like an eye, doesn't it?” Hashirama mused aloud, stopping in front of him. A child at heart, even after so many accomplishments. The master of old jutsu, inventor of new, unifier of clans that rivaled one another for centuries. Together, they defied tradition and birthed the unimaginable. His eternal optimism and mirth helped turn their dream into a reality, but it was a double-edged sword. He would ruin everything they worked for with that eternal optimism...

 

“It does.” Madara agreed, a slight downward turn of his lip hidden by the darkness.

 

Hashirama looked at him, searching inquisitively. Then he found it. The scent of honeysuckle, drifting faintly to him. Mito's favorite. He sometimes caught her plucking the small white flowers for their nectar, when she thought no one was looking. One of the last things he ever expected to find lingering on Madara.

 

He chuckled softly, an amused smirk on his lips. “You smell good for once. Have you been visiting my wife?” It was a teasing, rhetorical question. He expected an annoyed look or dry laugh at the most.

 

“Yes.” Madara pulled his brooding gaze from the moon, and met his eyes. It was difficult to see detail in the dark, but the severe visage was clear enough.

 

The chuckle caught in his throat, and he stared. His lifelong friend and rival had always been deprived of humor. Pranks and jokes were not a part of his personality. Candid and austere in most things he did and said; that was Madara.

 

A pregnant pause hovered between them, and then Hashirama laughed again. Nervously, this time. “You had me for a second...” He took a step forward, a hand reaching to plant itself on his friend's shoulder, but it stopped inches away. There was more than honeysuckle. A mixture of unique scents he knew all too well. He just needed to tread closer to find it.

 

Madara watched the subtle changes in his face. First there was vacancy. All thought and emotion displacing, as if he had witnessed something impossible that sundered the reality he knew. Then confusion. How could something like this occur? It defied logic. Then denial. This was a misunderstanding. Such a possibility was inconceivable.

 

“What is this?” The humor abandoned his whisper. His hand wavered in the air. Wanting to touch him, but now hesitant. Fearful that this tactless ruse would become truth if he came any closer. He could not entertain the notion for a moment.

 

“This is goodbye, Hashirama.”

 

The look of muddled disbelief left Madara's shoulder for his eyes. They were dark and callous, hiding his soul under layers of armor. The tension had been rising between them for weeks, if not longer. But this shocked him. This change was unprecedented. Unlike anything he experienced before.

 

“Goodbye...?” The expression on his face was insufferable. Like he refused to comprehend what was happening. The confusion and doubt sank into dread, his eyes flitting all over him in search of answers.

 

Madara felt the anger burn in his chest, bringing a twitch to his eye.

 

“Don't act so surprised. You knew this was coming.” The black eyes narrowed. He took a step, closing almost any space left between them. “No... I'm the one who shouldn't be surprised. You have rejected the truth for so long. I should not expect you to see reason now.”

 

“What truth?” The hostility was tangible. Heat rolled from the Uchiha in waves that put the sauna of their summer night to shame. Hashirama gaped in wonder, even if he did shed some light on a truth... He had felt it brewing. Something was going to happen. His friend was not one to submit to anything, or anyone, he was at odds with. He formed his opinions. Those opinions became facts. Those facts became laws in his universe. No one opposed them beyond a grave. Rigid conviction was his weakness. Love for him, was Hashirama's.

 

“Your path for peace is impossible.” He snarled, an old argument he would not allow to die. “I have showed you as much, and you continue to turn a blind eye. You will destroy everything we have worked for with this naïve fantasy.”

 

“The only way to achieve peace is for the villages to work together. You know that to be true, Madara. You've witnessed it with your own eyes now, haven't you? Our clans have been rivals for centuries, and look what we've done.” Hashirama's voice was subdued and calm, but only through conscious restraint. “You cannot expect to conquer every clan, and every village in this world, through the guise of peace. It is a contradiction.” Pain carved its way through him with the realization that this would turn into a confrontation. He would give anything to avoid it, but not even the 'God of Shinobi' could stop this chain reaction.

 

Madara's eyes clouded in anger. His sharpened, but he did not move. He was still reeling, wanting to reach the finale of this prank before he must accept it for what it really was. Countless disagreements passed between them before this night. Impasses no other could have overcome, but they did. This did not have to end any differently. They could still fix this, if Madara would just let go of his obsession to control. If he could just make him understand...

 

The tree slammed against his back. Hashirama grit his teeth and finally let his hand fall to his friend's shoulder. Gripping it firmly, yet harmlessly. If Madara wanted a real fight, this would not be its beginning. He knew him well enough.

 

“They are not us. Tell me Hashirama, what do you think will happen once these villages have matured? They will be no different from the warring clans of our time, except larger in number. Do you think their grudges will diminish? Do you think they will crave less? Want _peace_ with you?” A fist was clenching his damp robe under his chin. A flash of teeth in the dark, like an animal snapping at him. Hashirama held fast, eyes narrowed and alert.

 

“Where is Mito?” He asked gently, but with difficulty. They could argue in circles for hours—they have before. Right now, there was something much more important distracting him.

 

Madara's lip twitched in distaste. He thought he could evade this? No. He would only prolong the inevitable, but he would give him his answer, albeit with cold disinterest. “I imagine she is in your room, where I left her.”

 

“What did you do...Madara...?” The heart beat restlessly in his chest. He didn't want to know, but it was his duty to know. Even if meant learning the truth would forever transform the friend in front of him into a demon, he needed to know.

 

He scowled in contempt, as if Hashirama's concern for her was unwarranted. A triviality in light of much more dire matters. He knew he was wrong, deep down... He knew Mito was an innocent casualty in this feud. That what he did was unjust, and unforgivable. Madara truly held no malice for her. One day, in the distant future, he may look back and regret his actions, but not today. Today, his skies were thick and raging with storm. He knew no mercy. All he knew now was hate, disappointment, remorse for what in his mind had been lost. So much lost... But above all, he knew the ambition to correct their mistakes, by the only means he believed could succeed.

 

What got under his skin the most was how ignorant Hashirama remained. Capable of so much, wanting the same as him, but treading down the wrong path. If they worked together under Madara's leadership, they could easily conquer the land, and end the fighting forever. They were so close. Instead, Hashirama had once more become his greatest obstacle.

 

Madara _hated_ him for that...and yet loved him still. It drove him to the brink of madness. He was done with this endless cycle.

 

“You want to know what I did to her?” The hiss in his ear startled him, ardent and aggressive. The weight of his chest pressed into him, trapping him against the tree. Hashirama stared in stunned silence over his shoulder. All of his thoughts came to a grinding halt. “Why don't I show you...”

 

Hashirama blinked. Reluctant to move, despite the heavy implications. Then a soft rustle, a brush of something exploring his groin. Was that his hand? Was he...

 

Madara found what he was looking for, and when he did, a gasp answered him. Under the flap of his robe and through his pants, he cupped him. A firm grip, but without pain. Applying only enough pressure to make him flinch in surprise. The fingers on Madara's shoulder tightened, scraping against the armor.

 

“Ma...dara... What are you...” His breath sucked in noisily, a hand reached for him. Clutching his wrist and bracing tensely against the palm that held him captive. Shock rooted him in place.

 

“You should have been there, Hashirama. You could have protected her.” He goaded in cruelty.

 

“I shouldn't have to protect her...not from a friend.... What did you do?” His calm was remarkable. Something he mastered years ago, through enduring countless battles, and watching friends and family fall around him. He had long since mastered his emotions in the wake of chaos, and it was coming in handy now. It was not a calm that would last forever, though. This was not a battle of skill, or wit. This territory was unfamiliar.

 

“You were wrong,” He whispered. “You cannot trust anyone. Not me; not those villages. You see them as _children_ you mean to teach, to guide, to befriend. They see you as nothing more than competition. A threat too large to challenge now, so they attend your summits and they listen to your plans for the future, but they wait like snakes in the grass. They are biding their time. They will grow, and prepare, and you will let them...until they become threats themselves. Then, they will show you the monsters they really are. They are _human_ , Hashirama. All they will ever do is succumb to their greed and their lust for power, as they have for centuries past. Warring clans will become warring nations. You will murder our own people with your idiotic plans.”

 

“The only monster I see right now is you, Madara.” A trickle of regret in his voice as he tried to concentrate. Tried to ignore the hand touching him in such an intimate place...but how could he ignore something like that? It made him tense. It confused him. “You cannot condemn them without giving them a chance. What is your plan? To declare war on them all? It will be a self-fulfilling prophecy! You will force into creation the very thing you fear and are trying to avoid! Now, enough of this. _Tell me what you did._ ”

 

The hand shifted under his robe. His hips twitched as the pressure increased. Alarming him, enticing him to stir as the vessels dilated and he throbbed to life against his will. The next breath he took was deeper, his brown eyes glinting in a strange fear he couldn't recall experiencing before. Not like this.

 

But he wouldn't attack, and Madara knew. He would defend, if necessary, but never attack...not him. It pissed him off, really. Such a good friend, he was. So loyal and genial and always willing to compromise, even at the expense of his own life. So foolish. Madara wondered why he hadn't killed him yet. Wondered why he didn't just kill him now...

 

“I do not fear them.” He murmured into his ear, insulted and frustrated, and out of patience. “I will not war with them.” Madara felt him thicken through the fabric. Pulse rhythmically in his palm and strain against the confining space. “I will simply conquer them,” Hashirama's fingers tightened around his wrist, but he did not move him. If asked why, he wouldn't have an answer. This was one of the few times in his life he didn't know what to do, “As easily as I conquered your wife,” Madara's fingers snaked around him in return. Holding the growing cock in his hand. Feeling the vessels bulge and beat faster. “As easily as I will conquer you.”

 

Hashirama's eyes widened. Breath stilling in his throat as he stared aghast. “Madara...” He whispered quietly. The hand retreating from his wrist held a tremor now. It pressed to the armored chest in front of him carefully. Voices screamed in his head, breaking past the prison of calm. They told him to kill. To end this madness. Swiftly, painlessly, _now._ Take his heart. His armor was nothing. But the loudest voice of all screamed no.

 

No, no, _no..._ Kill him? Never. It didn't need to come to that. There was always another way. They didn't come this far for it to end like this.

 

He shook his head back and forth slowly, at a loss for what to say, or even think. Madara didn't care enough to wait.

 

The lips crashed into his roughly. Kissing him with a vengeance he didn't understand. His pants tugged and ripped as something forced its way down. A sharp inhale through his nose, a bare hand reclaiming its place around him. He bucked instinctively into the calloused palm, cock stretched full and tight and out of his control.

 

“You want to know, Hashirama?” Madara ripped free with a ragged breath, hand still gripping under his chin to hold him still. “You want to know what I did?” He stroked him firmly. Pulling and rubbing and feeling him in greedy detail. A thumb teased the sensitive bulb. Massaged him in electric pleasure until precum melted over his fingers.

 

“I ravaged her... On the table, your bed...” He was panting lightly between each hateful kiss. Hashirama shut his eyes, snagging the fabric on his arm now. His back knotted tensely and painfully while the waves of sick pleasure rolled through his hips.

 

“You should pay your wife more attention.” He broke away to kiss his throat. Hot tongue lapping and tasting the salt on his skin. “It was too easy to make her come.”

 

“You're lying. You would never sink so low...I know you wouldn't. She's done nothing to you.” The choked whisper denied him. His head whirling in the sensations. Seeding him with lust when he should be on guard. Should be fighting back.

 

“This...” He laughed darkly, though it was devoid of humor. “This is what I'm talking about. Even if the truth beats you bloody, you will not recognize it.” Madara's pumping hand slid around the head of his cock, concentrating its assault there as he rubbed him. The sticky fluid coated him. “I give you all the evidence you need, Hashirama...and you reject reality.”

 

The shove was hard enough to put a few feet of space between them. It was unexpected, but the twitch of a smirk on his face suggested to Hashirama that it was exactly what he wanted. “Take it back, Madara... Tell me it's not true.” He panted, slouching against the tree as he searched his face desperately. Nauseated, and yet aroused, and so mixed up. He wanted to vomit.

 

“Yes... It hurts, doesn't it?” Madara eyed him like a coiling snake.

 

Hashirama clenched his teeth into a snarl, agony crinkling his eyes. He was right. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to face the truth. To accept that the person he admired his whole life would betray him so callously.

 

“To what end, Madara?! What have you accomplished by spoiling your honor like this?!” It came rushing like a torrent, once he gave in. The understanding of everything that was happening. Processing it all from the touch, to goodbye, to Mito. “My _wife_?! What could you gain by hurting her?!” His voice cracked like lightening, vaporizing the calm he mastered so well. It felt like a bomb had gone off in his chest. The worst part was, the fire in his loins would not subside.

 

He took a step forward, but Madara flew to him. Clutching him by the jaw and smacking him into the tree once more. “Do you remember the pain now?”

 

“Remember the... What are you talking about?” His distress only fueled him, and Madara tightened his grip enough to bruise.

 

“The pain of endless fighting, Hashirama. Watching the children of your clan fall. Burying your own younger brother. The pointless suffering our clans endured for generations.”

 

Hashirama's eyes narrowed in bewildered disbelief, mouth hanging open. “I never forgot...”

 

“You did,” He shut him down. “You've forgotten the mountain of corpses that brought us to this alliance,” He spat in disgust and pulled him roughly from the tree. Hashirama shoved his hand off his face and meant to interject. A fist closed in his damp hair instead, and Madara forced him to turn and slammed his chest into the bark. His hot breath bathed his neck as he fell over him. “You've forgotten how it feels to lose. To watch someone you care for suffer while you're unable to help them. If you remembered, you wouldn't be leading this village into inevitable ruin now.”

 

“You're wrong! The decisions I make are precisely because I do remember. Fighting fire with fire is what will lead this village into ruin, Madara. _That_ is what I will not do!”

 

“That is why you're here now, pinned against a tree while I assault you...because you can't fight fire with fire.” The prickling in his scalp flared into hot needles as Madara's fist clenched. “Fine...” Cloth rustled behind him. Then the sound of leather and metal coming undone. He stared in silence as the bark scraped his cheek. Shocked and lacking any retort this time. “Fight me with your words, Hashirama,” He heard the armor fall from his waist and thump to the ground. “Tell me how wrong I am,” It wasn't until he felt his robe opening and his own pants shifting down that he fully acknowledged what was happening, but by then, Madara was already pressing into him. Slipping his fingers to his entrance and using his own precum to wet him while the head of his cock prodded against the back of his thigh “See what it changes...”

 

“Madara, wait—“ The pain crippled him, hot and white and piercing. Madara's full length invaded with one merciless thrust. Everything in his body clenched, and he hissed through his teeth. Kami, it hurt... He was no stranger to pain, in all the battles he lived through, but this was unlike anything he endured in the past.

 

“No. I've waited long enough.” Madara bucked his hips roughly. Listening to him grunt and watching his fingers claw into the tree. Years of hate and pain and loss lead him to this moment. Every thrust was fueled by anger, resentment, the need to punish...yet with every thrust, it was slipping away. The pleasure distracted him, made his breath ragged and made the rhythm of his hips melt from a ruthless hammer into something more carnal.

 

“Well, Hashirama?” Madara panted into his ear, his hand releasing the grip on his hip and reaching for his cock. Almost flaccid now, with the pain wracking him, but when the fingers returned to caressing his glans he let out the faintest whimper. “Fight me...with your words of wisdom...” Madara toyed with him, coaxing him fully erect once more and wrapping him snugly to pump him in time with each thrust of his hips.

 

His eyes were sealed shut, focusing on trying to relax his muscles and cope with the strange mix of pain and pleasure enough that he could form a coherent thought. He felt the tight clamp of teeth on the slope of his neck, the burning inside him and the fingers tormenting him until he ached. A shudder ran through him, and he sank his face into the crook of his elbow with a pleading moan.

 

The tree fell away from him, and he found himself stumbling backwards until he was pushed to the ground on his knees. Madara released his hair to plant a hand on his back and bend him over. Hips bucking into him like an animal in heat. Passionate, cold fury tangling into passionate lust. “Your wife fought harder than this,” He sneered, “But that isn't saying much.”

 

“She could have fought more, but she would have put others at risk. She chose not to. She let me take her, to spare them. Admirable, isn't she?” Madara sank over top of him, slowing his pace as the pleasure mounted. Controlling its intensity before it could sneak up and nudge him over the edge. “What's your excuse?” He growled, “Why don't you fight?”

 

He twitched in his hand involuntarily, and a twinge of shame gnawed at him. “Do you want me to fuck you, Hashirama?” The voice gave him chills, and he tried to stifle a groan, but couldn't. “Disgusting...” Madara whispered into his ear, but his hips never stopped. They moved with precision, searching him for something, and certain that he found it when Hashirama cried out. Madara pushed his chest down to the ground, leaving his hips up at an angle so he could pound harder into his prostate.

 

“Madara...please...” He choked finally, face flushed and glinting with sweat. What he was trying to say, he didn't know, but either way he was about to explode and he couldn't take it anymore. Madara pulled his hand away, releasing the sensitive organ from its torment, and inciting an exasperated whimper. “Do _not_ come.” The voice snarled into him as he hips picked up speed again. He felt two fingers prodding at his lips, and when he parted them curiously, they slipped inside. Grazing his tongue and preventing him from speaking. He didn't understand their purpose, but he realized suddenly that he was tasting himself, and another stab of shame found him.

 

Madara let his concentration fade, and the pleasure ambushed in full force. He crashed into him, pushing as deep as he could go. Burying himself in the tight crevice, and came with a thick gush. His jaw clenched, head falling back as he milked himself in slow, firm thrusts.

 

When he was finished, his dark eyes wandered over Hashirama's back as he panted. Feeling the wet tongue glide against his fingers. He flipped him onto his back without warning, relishing the startled grunt, the brief cringe of pain, and the utterly lost look in his eyes. Madara's palm rested on his abdomen as he lowered to his waist. He reached for him in fear, but Madara smacked his hand away, taking him into his mouth before he could make another move

 

Hashirama bucked his hips, crying out at his tongue lapped around his glans and slid back and forth as he bobbed his head slowly. “Madara... Mada... What is... I can't...” He sobbed, hips writhing and thrusting as he curled an arm over his face and dug his fingers into his own hair. It horrified him beyond measure, but he couldn't stop it. He came, hard, with an arch of his spine and an agonizing whimper. Madara let him. It filled his mouth and throat as he rubbed his tongue in circles, until the last drop trickled.

 

A soft, pleased moan humming into his cock made him shiver, and Hashirama peeked down beneath his arm. Madara let him slip free, and stared at him as he sat slowly upright. The contempt was still there. All it did was confuse him more, as he laid on the ground, trying to catch his breath. It softened slightly, perhaps...but nothing had changed. “Disgusting.” Madara whispered again, seemingly to himself as they continued to lock eyes. A strange sensation fluttering in his chest, before he thrashed it away and felt the anger take its place.

 

He rose from the ground, fixing his pants and fastening the armor to his waist. Silence. It made Hashirama incredibly uncomfortable. He would have preferred more insults instead, but the Uchiha said nothing. It wasn't until he walked past and headed off into the direction Hashirama had come from did he reach out. “Madara, wait...”

 

“No.” He kept his pace, wiping the corner of his mouth as he peered into the shadows ahead.

 

“Where are you going?” Hashirama rolled to his stomach and carefully pushed himself to his feet. Moving stiffly, like a beaten dog.

 

“I told you, this is goodbye. I have wasted more than enough time on you.”

 

“No, Madara—“ He lunged after him once he pulled his pants up, only to hiss in pain and lock up his legs. His stance a little wider than normal. “It doesn't...have to be this way. No matter what's happened, we can fix this...” The pain infected his voice as he braced against the tree, feeling something wet slide down his leg under his pants. Unsure whether it was blood, or cum, or both. Right now, he didn't want to know.

 

To his relief, Madara stopped. “I will fix this, Hashirama...” He turned his head slightly, a single black eye piercing him. “I will bend this village over, just as I have bent you, if that's what it takes.” Then he continued on through the trees.

 

“ _Madara!_ ” He yelled in vain, and made the mistake of trying to chase after him again. This time, the pain was enough for him to stumble forward and fall to the ground. Like a burning knife wedged inside him that throbbed angrily. When he looked up again, he was gone.

 


End file.
